Two ways of looking at the same...

You can say anything you want, but it's the words that sing, they soar and descend...I bow to them...I love them, I cling to them, I run them down, I bite into them, I melt them down...I love words so much...The unexpected ones...The ones I wait for greedily or stalk until, suddenly, they drop...




---Pablo Neruda
born July 12 1904, Parral, Chile
died September 23 1973, Santiago


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